


Et J'ai Vu Mon Amour

by orphan_account



Series: How We Came To Be [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bad dates, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, Pre Canon, Skating Lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alicia doesn't need a relationship, doesn't want a relationship.  But she lets her friend talk her into one bad date after another.  She expects them all to be a disaster--and they are.  But she doesn't expect the tall, handsome stranger to come to the rescue, even if she doesn't really need rescuing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I could read a hundred fics about Bob and Alicia. I love them so much. This is basically a prequel to my Zimbits A Wall Around Me (and I'll udpate it as a series in a few minutes).

She can’t skate. She hates skating. She doesn’t know why she let that idiot talk her into going. She doesn’t know why she got talked into this date in the first place. Across the rink, John is leant against the boards, arms over his chest, smiling that smile at a couple of girls which probably mean if she doesn’t get on the ice soon, she’ll be going home alone, and he won’t.

It was all Charlotte’s fault anyway. “Alicia, you’re going to end up alone if you don’t at least try.”

Frankly spending her entire life alone sounded a lot damn better than dating some smarmy asshole who had no problems chatting-up strangers in front of her all because she wouldn’t give him what he wanted. 

Frankly, spending her entire life alone didn’t seem like the tragedy Charlotte thought it was. But then again, Alicia had always thought a little different than her friends.

“Why does it look like you’re about to take your skate off and cut someone’s throat?”

The voice came from her left, low enough not to startle her. It was rumbly, deep-chested, and heavily accented, and she immediately turned, raising a brow.

The owner of said voice was a man. Tall, wearing high-waisted jeans and the ugliest windbreaker she’d ever seen on a human. He was nice looking though, which surprised her because normally she wasn’t even really attracted to men, though most of her friends didn’t know that about her. But he was nice on the eyes. Sharp nose, big, almost sad brown eyes, floppy black hair. Half his mouth was quirked up into a smile, and he wasn’t looking at her like John had--like he was trying to calculate the exact formula that would have her lifting her skirt by the time they got back to his.

“Are Canadian laws softer than the American ones? I mean, do you think they’d let me off if I killed my date?”

The man’s eyebrow lifted, and his gaze flickered back out onto the ice. “Euh...date?”

“That one,” she said, and pointed right as John dipped his head low into one of the girls’ necks, making a show of what? Smelling her perfume or something? Whatever it was, it was absurd.

The man scoffed. “You’re...joking, right? That’s not your date.”

Alicia sighed and wriggled her toes in the uncomfortable rental skates. “I’m afraid so. My friend--ex friend,” she clarified with a small huff, “convinced me to go on this date.”

“And he’s out there now because...?”

“I don’t know how to skate,” she admitted. “He didn’t want to help. Told me to figure it out.”

There was a long pause, and she saw the side of his jaw tense, and his fingers curl into a fist like maybe he was considering dashing onto the ice and beating John down. A tiny part of her wondered if that would be so bad. She glanced down at his skates--not rental, not like hers at all. They were sharper looking, and black. And well worn.

“I could teach you to skate,” he offered.

She lifted a brow. “Uh. Are you any good?”

An amused look flickered across his face, like someone sharing an inside joke, then he shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess.” He extended his hand. “Robert. Zimmermann.” He added his surname with some pause, like maybe it meant something, but whatever it was, she didn’t get it.

“Alicia Levy.” She didn’t give him her stage name, even though he hadn’t recognised her now so he probably wouldn’t have if she’d said Miller. But still, the anonymity was kind of soothing in a way.

His hand gripped hers after a second, and she could feel calluses, though his palm was soft, and his fingers gripped hers with a sort of delicate grace she hadn’t expected. Her stomach swooped, and she glanced over to see John watching.

That made the swooping feeling stronger, a thrill running up her spine. Take that, asshole.

“Okay, Robert,” she said with a shrug. “Teach me to skate.”

He stared, then laughed and nodded, carefully walking backward toward the rink entrance. “It’s...well easy for me, but I’ve been skating since I could walk.”

“Have you ever taught anyone to skate before?” she asked, her tone dampened by a dubious suspicion that she may not walk away from this in one piece.

Robert bit his lip. “Yes. In the off...in my...during summer,” he fumbled, “merde.” He ran a hand down his face and she realised he was nervous, and wow it was endearing. “I help kids. Younger than you. Little easier when they fall.”

She laughed, and his cheeks went mottled pink and he grabbed both her hands as they stepped onto the ice. “So is it a Canadian thing? Being born with skates? I bet you like...play hockey or do curling or something.”

His eyes went bright at that, and he shrugged. “I like the ice sports.”

She rolled her eyes, then proceeded to fall directly on her ass. “I bet you do,” she said, and he laughed.

*** 

John attempted to talk to her exactly one time, asking if she was ready to go. In truth, she was. Her ass was sore, and Bob was a patient teacher but that didn’t make her any good at skating, and he caught her nine out of ten times but those one falls left bruises.

But leaving with John? She’d already seen him get a couple of numbers and the very last thing she was going to do was get in his car and let him drive her anywhere.

“I’m good, but thanks.”

John’s eyes went wide. “You rode with me. How are you...”

“I’ve got it,” Robert said.

John’s eyes went wide. “You...”

Then Robert let out a long string of French which had John moving slightly backward. After a long, incredibly awkward pause, John just shrugged and muttered, “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Then he was gone and Alicia was staring.

“Well. Was he scared of the French, or scared because you’ve got like a foot on him.”

“I’m not that tall,” he said, slinging an arm round her waist when her feet started to slide out from under her again. She laughed and gripped the front of his shirt, enjoying the flustered blush he seemed to be sporting any time she looked at him. “And I don’t know that anyone’s ever been scared of French. Now Russian...”

“Know a lot of Russian guys? Associated with the Mafia?” she asked as Robert began to lead them back to the rink exit.

He raised a brow. “Ha. Ha. Nice chirp.”

Her brow lifted. “Chirp.”

“It’s a ho...it’s a...term. For talking smack.”

For whatever reason, the phrase ‘talking smack’ in his accent was possibly the funniest thing ever, and she doubled over, laughing so hard, he had to practically carry her out of the rink. He didn’t seem to mind, and she couldn’t say she did with his big hands at her waist, and his biceps bulging as he manoeuvred them to the bench.

They sat, and she regained her composure as she leant over to undo the laces. His hands brushed hers away, though, and he took one foot into his lap.

“Next date something that isn’t going to cause as many bruises,” she said.

He froze, then stared. “Next date.”

She shrugged. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to ask. You seem a little...shy.”

He bit his lip and looked down, shoulders hunched, and he whispered in French again, to himself before clearing his throat. “Do you live here?”

Alicia laughed, shaking her head. “No. I’m...” She took a breath. “I’m filming.”

He blinked. “Like...like a movie?”

She shrugged. “Normally I model. But they asked a me and a few of the girls I usually work with to do some walk-on stuff for this film so...” It wasn’t even fun. The work was tedious and exhausting and she wasn’t really good at it so her scenes had to be shot, re-shot, then re-shot again. “I’ll be here for at least another two weeks though. And I live in New York. You um...do? Right? Live here?”

Robert nodded, biting the side of his lip as he eased her other foot out of the skate. He pressed his thumbs into the arches, and laughed when she groaned. “I do. I was raised here but I also...I play here. For the Habs.”

She blinked. “Um.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “No idea?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not...uhg my friends say I live under a rock. I’m kind of...not always in the modern loop.”

His smile was crooked and sweet and it made her want to kiss him. “That’s okay. Hey do you like hockey, by the way?”

She frowned at the change of subject. “Uh. I went to a Rangers game once. Charlotte--the ex friend who set me up with that asshole--she got tickets. She was um...having a fling with their goalie.”

Robert’s eyes widened, then he threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming off the tall rafters. “That’s. Well. Anyway where are you staying? The Montréal Canadiens are playing tonight and I can get really good seats.”

“Is this going to be the date, then?”

He answered her with a grin.

“I’m at the Hôtel Vogue. Room three-oh-nine.”

His smile only got wider, and after they got shoes on, and walked to the door, he picked up her hand and kissed it. Her face flushed, and she couldn’t really find the words as she climbed into his car, and let her drive him back to the hotel.

Their goodbye was short. He brushed her hair back, and let his lips linger on her cheekbone and he whispered, “See you tonight? I’ll leave enough tickets for you and your friends. And a car if you like.”

She shook her head. “We can catch a cab. See you there.”

He grinned, then winked, and said goodbye.

*** 

Alicia was crammed in her seat behind the home players’ bench, between Charlotte and Debbie, and she was staring at the empty space at the end of the row waiting to see if Robert was going to fill it. But the lights began to dim and suddenly it felt like chaos.

Luckily she was prepared, though the crowd here was far more enthusiastic during the opening ceremony than it had been in New York. But it was nice, and loud, and she got into the spirit, even if Robert still hadn’t shown up.

Eventually the players began to take the ice. The announcement was in French, however, so most of it was lost on her. But everyone seemed really excited.

Then came the Captain, and she swore she heard the name Zimmermann, but the crowd was so loud and it was all very confusing and frankly she just didn’t let herself think about it until the lights came up and the players began to skate toward the benches.

And even with the pads, and the helmet, and the visor, she could see the soft browns, and the upturn of the right side of his mouth. Her cheeks were flushed and she was torn between being furious and impressed.

Until he waved at her, and winked at her, and yeah.

She was gone.

*** 

The Habs won. The Habs, she learnt, which were the Canadiens. Of which Bob was the captain. Of which he’d won more than one Stanley Cup, something that was a huge deal. Big enough that even Alicia knew the significance. Robert Zimmermann was Bad Bob Zimmermann, a household name--at least in Candada, and pretty much everywhere in the hockey world.

And when Alicia met him outside in the car park, she smacked him on the arm, then laughed until her sides hurt as he tucked an arm round her waist, spun her, then crowded her back up against his car.

“I thought this was a date,” she said, a little breathless.

His hand, cold and a little rough from the game, cupped her cheek, then brushed her hair back like he’d done before. “I never said date.”

“Apparently,” she said, a tiny eye-roll. But her huff turned into a sigh, which turned into a grin as he dipped down and brushed his lips over her cheek.

“I’m not busy now though, if you like.”

“I don’t know,” she said, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt. “I really hate ice skating. I mean...that could be a problem.”

His eyebrows raised, but he was grinning, rubbing his thumb along the cut of her jaw. “It’s okay,” he murmured, and lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed back, soft and slow, sweeter than she normally kissed, and wanting more than she normally wanted. When he pulled away, it was only far enough to say, “I can teach you.”

“How about,” she said, and tugged him down for another kiss. “How about you promise never to take me on the ice again, and you can have as many dates as you want. As a fair trade I’ll...learn French. For you.”

He smiled, eyes lighting up like the sun, and brushed his thumb along her lower lip, making her breath leave her lungs in one, quick rush. “I think I can live with that,” he whispered. “No, I can definitely live with that.”

“Good,” she said, and trailed her hands along his arms, drawing his hands from her face, and into her own. “Better take me home, then.”

His grin threatened to split his face. “Yeah?”

She laughed, then winked. “Ouais. And it’s getting late, you should probably hurry.” Then she let out a yelp as he all-but bodily threw her into his car. As he got into the seat, switching on the engine she looked at him and thought, ‘Yeah. Yeah. This is what Charlotte meant. And yeah, this is definitely something I can live with.’


End file.
